


Enjoy The Silence

by EMILYLAWLESS



Series: Violent Delights [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Sex, Graphic Description, M/M, Murder Kink, New Orleans, Prostitution, Violence, murder boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 07:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14256366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EMILYLAWLESS/pseuds/EMILYLAWLESS
Summary: They drive miles down a long stretch of road that weaves in and out of nondescript towns and cities, over the Ohio river, out of Indiana and into Kentucky. The driving is split evenly, both taking turns at the wheel, both massaging patterns into the other’s thigh. When they stop for gas, Billy scours the papers for a mention of their names. At roadside diners he pays close attention to the TV or the radio. There is nothing. Neil Hargrove’s disappearance isn’t important enough for the news.Billy and Steve cause some damage in New Orleans.





	Enjoy The Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Part two of 'Violent Delights' -- you don't need to read the first part but you should.
> 
> Billy and Steve cause some damage in New Orleans.
> 
> Thank you to @quodpersortem and @ficsandfuckery for making this 10x better.

They drive miles down a long stretch of road that weaves in and out of nondescript towns and cities, over the Ohio river, out of Indiana and into Kentucky. The driving is split evenly, both taking turns at the wheel, both massaging patterns into the other’s thigh. When they stop for gas, Billy scours the papers for a mention of their names. At roadside diners he pays close attention to the TV or the radio. There is nothing. Neil Hargrove’s disappearance isn’t important enough for the news.

Four hundred miles more down the road and the scenery turns swampy. Thick, twisted roots of  cypress trees rise out of mossy water, their leafy fingers making ripples on the surface. They drive above the flat wetlands that stretch out for miles. Billy’s breath fogs up the passenger window as he watches pelicans fly out of the bayou and across the sky.

He watches as forests and murky water give way to six lane highways as they draw closer to the city. The skyscrapers come into view, framed by rundown houses with colourful roofs. He looks down from the highway--at cemeteries full of above ground vaults--and wonders what kind of funeral they’ll hold for his dad.

They take the next exit and drives alongside the raised highway for a few blocks, past chain fences, power lines and worn-down French architecture. On a particularly wide street corner, a familiar billboard sits on top of a derelict building covered in graffiti. The billboard has the face of a young man, a happy smile stretches his mouth. Next to his face, in bold white letters, ‘ **MISSING** ’. Underneath, in a thinner font: ‘Andrew Pope. 23. Last seen in Clarksdale, MS - 19/03/1986. Brown hair, blue eyes, tattoo of a snake on left arm.’ Billy thinks that Andrew’s family must be rich because it’s only been ten days and he’s already seen the billboard at least three times.

“You think they know he’s dead yet?” he asks absently, the car jolting a little from the pot-holed street.

Steve laughs a little from the driver's seat, car coming to a stop at a red light, “If they knew he was dead then why would they pay for the billboards?”

Billy nods because Steve’s right--no point wasting money on billboards up and down the south if you know the missing are actually dead.

“Where are we staying tonight?” he asks. It’s the late afternoon but he needs a nap. Watching the world drift by outside the car window is tiring.

The streets narrow, Billy winds the window down, lets the tropical heat into the car and inhales deeply. Confederate jasmine, stale beer, greasy fried food and coffee--he takes his hit and leans back into the seat.

“We don’t have much money left,” Steve states, winding through the one-way streets.

Outside, the streets are alive with music, the rattle of tambourines and the piercing sound of trumpets. And as they roll past bars with wooden doors pushed wide open, Billy can hear a jazz piano.

He checks the glove compartment, pulls out the brown envelope that was thick with cash a few weeks ago. “Fuck,” he sighs. “What do we do? There’s maybe,” he pauses to count the notes, “two hundred? Give or take.”

Steve doesn’t seem bothered as he takes a right and pulls the car up alongside a grand looking building framed by palmetto trees. Billy looks up to the ornate balcony, patterns made of cast iron supported by beams that rise from the tiled sidewalk. On the ceiling of the balcony, wicker baskets full of lush green plants sway in the afternoon breeze.

“Can we afford this?” Billy asks, still holding the envelope in his hands.

Turning off the engine, Steve turns to him and says, “Of course we can afford it,” like Billy’s said something desperately silly.

Out of the car and onto the street, Billy can’t believe it’s only March. The south is warm but New Orleans is something different entirely, the kind of damp heat that gets underneath your skin and stays there. He feels himself start to sweat as they walk into the lobby, thankful for the rush of air conditioning to stop him from soaking through his t-shirt.

At the check-in desk, Steve hands over his car keys to the valet, and when asked how long he wants the room for he replies with, “Indefinitely, me and my _friend_ want to experience the _real_ New Orleans, I doubt you can do that in a week right?”

Billy just stands awkwardly, lets Steve use his charm over the young woman at the counter who turns pink when he leans over to watch her write their details in a thick, leather-bound book. She asks for identification and Steve hands over their ID’s with a genuine smile, along with a wad of cash. She writes quickly, then turns and opens a fancy cupboard with floral patterns all over it, pulls a key from inside and hands it over.

“It’s room 14 and if you boys need anything, I’ll be right down here waitin’,” she says cheerily.

“Thank you,” Steve takes a moment to read her name badge, “Bernadette.”

Her blush deepens as she smiles widely at him, “Bernie, please. A pleasure to meet you, _Jimmy_.”

Billy has to hold back a snigger. He gets the overwhelming urge to laugh every time he hears someone call Steve by the name on his fake ID. Jimmy Campbell from Fort Wayne, Indiana throws an arm over Billy’s shoulders and leads him out of the lobby and up the one flight of stairs. 

When Steve unlocks the door to Room 14, Billy lets out a long whistle of appreciation. He follows Steve into the living room in awe, he’s never seen anything as unapologetically rich before. A chandelier hangs above chairs covered in colourful patterns. On the coffee table, fresh flowers sit in an expensive vase, the scent of magnolia fills the room.

“We can’t afford this,” he mumbles, walking to the glass door that leads to the balcony and opening it. He hears the scrape of hooves across the cobbled streets below and feels two strong hands hold onto his hips and pull him back into hard muscle.

“You deserve the best,” Steve pushes his curls to the side and nuzzles into his neck, “we’ll find a way to afford it.”

He’s not sure how true it is, but he’s pretty certain that Steve just handed over the remainder of the cash they’d cleaned out of his bank account. He doesn’t question it, he never questions it. Instead, he just lets Steve hold him on the balcony, lets him slip his hands under the waist of his jeans a few inches. With the whisper of Steve’s lips on his neck and the sound of an accordion playing somewhere below them, he lets himself relax.

 

* * *

 

In a dark corner, Steve watches Billy drink alone as the synth music vibrates underneath them. Scantily clad men dance on the bar, Billy doesn’t look up at them, doesn’t take his eyes off his half-empty glass. He’s nervous, he’d told Steve as much whilst they were fucking on the hotel bed earlier. Steve had reassured him as much as possible, told him that they needed the money--not to mention they hadn’t indulged since Clarksdale and he knew they were both _itching_ for it.

The plan is simple. Billy will wait alone at the bar until he’s approached by a suitable victim. Older, affluent, well-dressed, money in his wallet to spend on a night with a handsome young man. Then he’ll spring into action with a bat of his lashes and a saccharine smile. Steve has no doubt that Billy could seduce every man in The Corner Pocket, his rugged sex appeal could bring them all to their knees. Once he’s charmed them--the victim malleable and elastic like beaten dough--he’ll bring them back to the hotel room.

Plenty of men approach him and all of them could be fine candidates for what they have planned but they want everything for free. Steve drinks along with every faceless body that slides up against Billy, enjoying the burn of the Southern Comfort at the back of his throat. And still he watches as they pull on Billy’s attention, the confidence that oozes out of them as they brush his muscled arms with their fingers. A younger man sighs and walks away, leaving the space next to Billy unoccupied just for a moment until a man in a suit takes his place.

Steve watches Billy becomes more animated as he accepts a drink and turns to face the man fully with his back turned to Steve. He pushes the jealousy down with more alcohol and tells himself that Billy is doing this for _him_ , for _them_. When the man leans in to talk in Billy’s ear, Steve slams down his empty glass a little too hard, smashing it. Luckily the music is loud and masks the sound of glass shattering. He looks at the broken shards shining under the strobe lights. He picks up the biggest piece--the one that looks like a dagger--and puts it in the pocket of his jacket, brushes the rest onto the floor and watches Billy work.

He throws his head back and Steve can tell it’s put on because when he _really_ finds something funny his whole body reacts. He thinks about how perfect Billy looks when Steve makes him laugh, carefree without a hint of self-consciousness. Then he thinks about how nervous Billy had looked when they’d picked up Andrew Pope at a blues bar in the middle of nowhere, Mississippi, ten days ago. He had been standing  in the middle of the hotel room, biting his lip and watching with wide eyes as Steve had strapped the guy down on the bed that he’d carefully covered in clear plastic. When Steve had pushed the knife into his hand, run a hand across his crotch and whispered in his ear, “Do it, baby, I got him all ready for you,” his expression had changed. Nervous hesitation gave way to an unrestrained, animalistic need that Steve knew well. He had watched the bloodlust take over Billy’s features, watched it consume him as he gripped the knife and stalked over to the bed.

He thinks that if  human beings are natural predators, then violence is something that must be ingrained in their DNA. He feels like he’s one of the privileged few to have realised the pleasure that comes from playing God, like he’s joined a private club that nobody knows exists just under the surface of normality. He watches as Billy gets closer to the older man, flirts with abandon, lets him touch and nuzzle into all the places that are usually reserved for Steve. He feels like a lion watching a buffalo plod across the plain--he can’t wait for the man to be strapped down to the bed, forced to watch as him and Billy fuck each other like animals.

 

* * *

 

In the club, Billy gives him the shared look that tells him it’s _on_ and so he makes a quick exit. Luckily the hotel is only a few blocks away and he walks fast, no consideration for other pedestrians sharing the path with him. He makes it back to the hotel and walks straight past a smiling Bernadette without so much as a second glance. He takes the stairs two at a time until he’s on the first floor and striding down the hall.

He unlocks the door and shuts it behind him, making his way through the living room to the four poster bed carefully wrapped up with thick, clear plastic--the kind that makes cleaning up easy. While he waits on the bed, he smokes a cigarette and watches it dance around the room. It’s against the hotel policy, but Steve doesn’t give a fuck about _rules_ anymore. 

Then he hears the door unlock and laughter fills the room, he can hear Billy pretending to be amused by the constant stream of bad jokes. Billy asks the man if he wants a drink, to which he replies, “I’d love a bourbon, d’ya have one?”, and then he hears the bottle being unscrewed, whiskey being poured into a glass.

“You ready to have some fun?” Billy asks and Steve just _knows_ that he’s pressed up against the man, his hard body teasing the stranger. And then they both appear in the doorway, Billy pulling on the man’s wrists and practically throwing him into the middle of the bedroom.

His eyes are a little frantic and then he laughs nervously.  “What’s this?” he asks, looking at both of them lecherously. “A threesome? Gotta say--I wasn’t expecting this but if you’re into it,” he nods, eyeing Steve up and down, “ _damn_.”

The man gets a good look at Steve on the bed, his body relaxed under a plain black t-shirt tucked into pinstripe pants that are rolled up a little, exposing the strong muscle of his legs and his bare feet. “Hi baby,” he whispers, all sultry tone and _fuck me_ eyes directed straight at Billy.

“Two for the price of one, I’m not complaining,” the man says excitedly, loosening his tie and shrugging out of his navy suit jacket. Steve thinks he hasn’t been laid in a while. If he had, he might have stopped to look around at the plastic bed, at the tools Steve has displayed next to him.

“That’s how you like it, right Billy? Two at a time?” Steve teases because he _knows_ what dirty talk does to him, loves how it gets him loose and feral. Pretending to be coy, Billy looks down at his feet and nods with faux-shyness. It makes Steve hard almost instantly. 

“You know me so well,” Billy practically purrs, approaching the man who stands between them, buzzing with excitement. He puts his hands on the man’s shoulders and leans in close, “Will you let him tie you up?”

Steve can’t help but bite his lip, hard enough that he can feel his canine piercing the skin and his mouth fills up with the taste of pennies.

The man’s eyes dart between both of them and Steve can practically smell the desire rolling off him. He thinks that if the man had any sense at all, he’d start asking questions but he doesn’t, they never do.

“Holy shit,” he says as he pulls at the buttons of his shirt, “you two can do anything you want.” His forehead is damp and he’s starting to sweat through his shirt. Steve can smell his expensive cologne, thinks it was probably a Christmas gift from his _wife_.

Billy’s eyes meet Steve’s and they share a look like they know exactly what the other is thinking and maybe they do--stranger things have happened. With speed, Billy tugs at the remaining buttons of the shirt and watches them fall on the floor. Then he pushes the man’s heaving, sweaty chest until he stumbles onto the bed. It’s perfect really, Steve thinks, that this man will leave the world horny and desperate.

The man seems to notice the plastic for the first time when it meets his back, pulling at it inquisitively and looking up at Steve who just smiles innocently. “What’s this for?” he asks, rubbing his grubby fingers across the smooth surface.

“Keeps the sheets clean. Means we can have fun and not worry about the mess.”

The man seems to buy it, if anything it only serves to get him more excited as he unbuttons his pants and begins to shuffle them down his legs. He quickly gets himself comfortable on the bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of crisp white y-front pants and slightly dulled white socks. The four poster bed is wide but he stretches himself out like a starfish and Steve can’t wait to see his wrists and ankles tied to the wood.

“Billy, will you do the honours?” Steve asks, pointing at the rope he’s got displayed on the bed. Obediently, Billy walks over to the bed and places a small kiss on Steve’s mouth. Behind them, the man says, “I hope you’re not just gonna be into each other, I better be getting something out of his, god knows I’m paying enough.” Steve thinks the man hasn’t got a _clue_ how much he’s really going to pay.

Picking up the rope in one hand and stroking up the man’s leg with the other, Billy walks to the top of the bed. First, he ties the rope around the post. Then he makes a loop with the other end, tightens it around the man’s wrist. The man winces a little when he does and Steve is on him in an instant. He straddles him and says directly into his ear, “What’s pleasure without a little _pain?”_

He watches as Billy moves to other side of the bed, pulls the man’s hand up and binds his other wrist. Then he does the same with both ankles and soon the man is wrapped up tighter than the big bows of Steve’s childhood birthday presents.

Underneath him, the man goes still, fear and lust mixing together. He licks his lips and nods. Steve loves it when all of the fight disappears and they just give in--like Neil had after a few blows to the head, like Andrew had when Billy dug the knife in and twisted. The man must feel how hard Steve is because he moves his hips up from the bed in a desperate attempt for more contact.

“You getting off on this?” he asks. The assumption that he’s getting off on what the man _thinks_ this is--both of them fucking his pudgy pink body--makes Steve want to cut out his tongue so he can’t talk anymore.

Steve rolls off the man and stands up, walks towards Billy who leans against one of the posters of the bed, faraway look in his eyes. He stands in front of him, pushes a curl out of his face and kisses his mouth. Billy reaches out for him, nails coming up to scrape along Steve’s scalp and pull at the root of his hair. Steve deepens the kiss, their lips rub up against each other like tectonic plates--leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

“Are you guys gonna stand over there all night making out or are we gonna have ourselves a _party_?” Steve thinks about what the man on the bed would do if he had the chance--how he’d take and take and take like all men do.

Next to the bed, Billy spots the bandana they’d used ten days ago along with a roll of duct tape. “I think he talks too much,” he says as he bends down to pick them up. Steve agrees and watches with pride as Billy moves up to the man’s face, forces open his mouth and shoves the bandana in. He rips a strip of tape from the roll, seals it across his lips. He makes loud, high pitched noises, like this wasn’t what he was expecting at all. He thrashes on the bed, the wood too heavy for him to make it move.

“Even that won’t shut him up,” Steve says, feeling exasperated. In the corner of the room he spots the radio, a wooden, vintage little thing with plenty of dials. He turns it on, rolls the dial with his fingers, searching for the perfect music. After a little while he settles on something upbeat, a soulful voice with a cheerful piano tune-- _perfect_. He flicks another dial, turning it up loud enough to drown out the squeals of the man strapped to the bed.

And then he’s dancing across the room, taking Billy in his arms and twirling him around to the music. He dips him, pulls him back up and spins him across the room whilst they both laugh. They dance their way back together, arms wrapping around each other’s waists and swaying in time to the motown tune. He looks Billy in the eyes and he can see the hunger in his eyes, knows that he wants this just as much as Steve.

“You ready baby?” he asks but he already knows the answer, he knows _all_ of Billy’s answers. Looking a little nervous, Billy nods and leans in for another kiss.

“I’m ready,” he says and then they pull away from each other, both stalking towards the bed. Billy pulls off his shirt on the way, tossing it carelessly on the carpet and runs his hands down his chest. Steve considers for a moment whether he should take the backseat on this one, just settle himself in a chair and watch Billy play with the man like he’s nothing but a chew toy. He watches as Billy touches himself, as he pinches at his own nipples and parts the lips of his empty mouth. His hand dips lower, across abdominal muscles that rise like mountains from the flat fields of his torso, and down underneath the waist of his pants where his cock hangs hard and heavy. It feels good to watch--to be a voyeur whilst Billy plays god--but soon his hands are itching to touch.

He peels off his t-shirt, relishing the drag of the cotton over his sensitive nipples. He pushes his pants down along with his underwear, revealing his own arousal that stands stiffly. He remembers the shard of glass he pocketed earlier and fetches it from his discarded jacket.  Billy’s already naked on the bed, curled up on the right side of the man who has relaxed a little now that both of them are naked and hard. The bed dips underneath his weight as he joins them on the bed, nestling against the man’s left side. He thinks about how lucky this guy is to be spending his last moments with _them_ , especially Billy who’s all innocent eyes as he drags a hand up and down the man’s torso.

“How d’you want to do it, Billy?” he asks, pinching at the man’s nipples and digging the shard of glass in his skin hard enough to make him thrash suddenly. His eyes water and he jerks around, forcing Billy to lean up a little to get comfortable. Steve’s hand travels down to his own cock, pulling his foreskin down, then up and over the leaking head. Steve likes the fight, but he can’t wait to watch it die out of him--he can’t wait to win.

Billy hums and screws up his face a little. “We could-- _fuck_ \--we could choke him?” Steve reaches over the bound body to kiss him because it’s perfect, feeling the pulse throb under his fingers before it stops forever, _perfect_. It’s nothing like the other things they’d talk about to get each other off, most of them ultra-violent and bloody.

“Yeah,” Steve says, then repeats again zealously, “yeah, we can choke him.”

Next to him, the man wriggles like he’s got a chance, like if he contorts his body a certain way he’ll slip out of the restraints and make his escape. The sounds coming out of his mouth are pitiful, they make Steve think about the last moments of a factory farmed animal before it’s inevitable slaughter. He thinks about how worthlessly hypocritical humans can be. If he cut open the flesh of this man’s stomach, the rotting carcasses of animals that fought for their last breath would spill out over the bed. But _that_ is morally acceptable. _This_ isn’t. He thinks about how violence is one of the few pure things in this whole, evil world and how sad it is that more people don’t understand that.

“You’re getting lost in your head again,” Billy says with a rough voice designed to bring Steve back to the present.

“I’m always lost in my head, except when I’m lost in yours,” Steve replies, dragging the glass up and down the mans torso like he’s thinking of words to write.

“So.” Billy pauses for a moment, “let’s get lost in _this_.”

And that’s all the encouragement he needs. He offers the man’s neck to Billy first, lets him take the first round whilst he just lays with his head resting in the man’s armpit. Then he watches as Billy starts to squeeze, sees the veins start to appear on his hands and up his forearms, the muscles of his biceps flexing. The man is frantic, pulling at the ropes to no avail--Steve doesn’t think he’s ever been harder as he keeps stroking himself. When he looks up at the man his face looks like that funny hour between 5 and 6am where the sky is an odd shade of red, pink and purple. He watches as his lids sag, as he drifts off to a sleep where there is no Billy and no Steve and no duct tape holding back his cries.

“Fuck,” Billy says, looking proud of himself. “Is he gone?” Steve feels a little too dreamy, doesn’t answer.“Steve, fucking talk to me, is he gone or what?” Billy continues, pushing at Steve’s shoulder and pulling him out of his daze.

Steve leans over a little, presses his ear against the limp chest and listens to the heartbeat still thudding away, albeit a little softer now. “No, he’s still here,” he announces, letting the steady thrum relax him like a white noise machine. 

“Want a go?” Billy asks, sounding a little frustrated at his inability to choke out a life on the first round but Steve knows better, knows he has to push on _just_ the right spot.

“I thought you wanted to do it,” he replies, giving Billy his best innocent expression as he tries to hold back a little laugh.

“I’m just offering you a go, _dickhead_.” Steve knows he doesn’t mean it, that it’s just his temper flaring up like it always does when he starts feeling out of control. There’s no real venom in his voice, just a little frustration. 

Steve leans up, towering over sleeping beauty and wraps both hands around his neck, digs his thumbs into the jugular. Feels the pulse under his touch, watches as his eyes go wide and alive and sees the final spark of life, the wild fight. He stops just before he crushes out the flame. The man tries to cough through the gag and layers of thick tape but he can’t, he just flails uselessly on the bed.

The energy in the room is palpable, it feels like two stars colliding, making the universe wobble. They crash into each other over the moaning man beneath them, with scratches and teeth and violent energy threatening to rip them apart at any moment. He gets a good grip on the back of Billy’s neck, opens up his mouth and takes. His fingers pull on Billy’s curls—gently, _always_ gently—and nails scratch along his scalp, dragging out those pretty moans.

When he pulls away, he asks, “Should I make a mess?” and Billy shakes his head _no_.

He means _no, I want to fuck you while he watches_ , Steve can tell—it’s all in the eyes. So he bends over the man across the bed, knees digging into the fat of his belly, presenting himself for Billy like he’s a prize. Billy’s on him in an instant, pushing down on his back and forcing his ass higher in the air. Steve complies, arches his back so that his own chest is rubbing sideways against the man’s hairy, sticky belly.

“Easy tiger,” Steve says, “I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
Strong hands push his cheeks apart, spreading him wide on the bed and then Steve can feel his tongue diving inside, licking him open. The man underneath them moans like it will make a difference, like his fate hasn’t been planned from the beginning. The man is watching Billy devour him, consume him. Steve thinks that it should feel wrong to let another man watch them in this intimate moment. But the thought of someone watching Billy fuck him only serves to exacerbate his arousal.

“Spread yourself open baby,” Billy commands. Steve holds his cheeks apart whilst Billy searches the bed for the bottle of lube. When he finds it, he squirts an obscene amount onto two fingers and runs them between Steve’s cheeks, finding their rightful home almost immediately.

“Open up for me,” he demands as he pushes inside. Steve does as he’s told, his hands still spreading his cheeks open as far as he can. He moans as the fingers go deeper until they’re buried down to the third knuckle. The lube makes everything wet and sloppy and he watches over his shoulder as Billy fucks him with his fingers over and over again.

“Jesus-- _fucking-_ -Billy,” he manages to bite out when another finger joins the party. He thinks about what he said earlier-- _what’s pleasure without a little pain?_ \--and how he wasn’t really thinking about it in the context of Billy’s fingers fucking into his ass, but now it seems to fit perfectly.

Impatient as always, Billy slicks his cock with another handful of lube and lines himself up. He pushes inside with one movement until Steve is completely full.  It’s like Billy’s a warrior and Steve is offering up his body in tribute. He lets out a loud moan as he feels the burning stretch of every inch--wonders how Billy can take a dick up his like he was made for it.

“So fucking tight, you’re always so fucking tight,” Billy growls, smacking a hand down on Steve’s ass cheek and squeezing it tight in his hand.

His own cock is hard and leaking down onto the man below as he feels Billy start to build a rhythm. He reaches down and curls his hand around it, starts to jerk himself off in time with Billy’s thrusts. Billy hits it just right, the tip of his cock pounding the spot that makes the stretch _so_ worthwhile. He looks at the man as Billy fucks into him relentlessly and bites his lip as he watches the tears falling from his eyes. _Poor baby_.

Steve thinks about how good he must look--bent over and taking every inch of Billy’s cock inside him until he’s buried to the hilt. But the man isn’t even hard, his limp dick just lies there and it makes Steve angry. This nameless, faceless mass is watching _them_ fuck--he doesn’t know how lucky he is.

“I thought you wanted to have some fun,” Steve mocks, his mouth falling open as Billy grabs hold of his hips and fucks in hard.

“This not fun for you baby?” Billy asks, building a punishing rhythm.

"Not talking to you-- _fuck_ , right there Billy.” Steve can’t help the desperate whine that comes out of him as Billy hammers away at him. “I’m talking to _him_.”

Billy laughs behind him, rubs a hand down the small of Steve’s back. “He’s scared.”

“Good,” Steve says, relishing in the noise of their skin slapping together--Billy chasing his orgasm and Steve on the verge of his own.

When his orgasm starts to build he feels it _everywhere_ , from the tips of his toes up, deep inside and all over the skin of his chest, his nipples, even his mouth starts to tingle. He gives in to his own pleasure, submits himself completely and _god_ does it feel good to be Billy’s prey.

Billy leans over and kisses his shoulder, bites down hard and mumbles, “I’m gonna cum--oh _fuck_ ,” and that’s enough to push him over the edge. He feels the warmth spread inside him, can feel it dripping out as Billy stays locked inside and then he’s spilling all over the man below them. He jerks his cock furiously and he’s watches as he covers the man with cum. Panting, fully spent, he tries not to whine as Billy slides in deep, determined to keep everything inside.

They stay like that for a while, Billy softening inside and keeping him grounded with his weight, squeezing his cheeks and moving languidly. He’s almost glad that Neil walked in on them that night--that he had threatened Billy and provoked the monster in Steve--because if he hadn’t then they would still be stuck in shit-town, Indiana, pretending to be normal.

He feels light, like he’s made of nothing.

Billy slides out, pulls Steve up by his shoulders and nuzzles into his neck, dragging his teeth across Steve’s clavicle.

“You good?” he asks as he bites gently on Steve’s earlobe. He runs his hand down Steve’s chest, tweaks his nipples and dips them lower, fondling his spent, sensitive dick.

“Better than good,” Steve confirms, wrapping his hands around Billy’s neck and pulling him closer, desperate to feel his hands claim every inch. “I should let you fuck me more often.”

Billy laughs into his neck, licks at the stop where it meets his shoulders. “Can we finish him off?” he asks, hands coming to rest on Steve’s hip-bones, fingers digging in tight enough to leave marks from his nails.

Steve nods slowly, turning to putty under Billy’s strong hand. He wants to crush the man like the bolt through the skull of a calf. He wants to watch the life fade into nothing, like the wick of a candle pinched between a thumb and finger.

He wonders if he’d ever got to this point alone, without Billy. Before him, everything had felt small and inconsequential. And then he had stormed into Steve’s life like a category five hurricane, tearing down every wall until there was nowhere to hide. He’d seen Steve for who he is, not the person he was so caught up in pretending to be. And here--in an opulent hotel room, with the man squirming underneath them,  the sticky, warmth of Billy’s release dripping from between his legs--Steve finally feels like himself.


End file.
